


Style and Body Count

by ABTwrites



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/F, Friends With Benefits, Friendship, Mostly Wholesome, Oneshot collection, Other, Pining, Rating will change, casual encounters, character interactions, guest appearances of companions and sole, i love goodneighbor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:25:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABTwrites/pseuds/ABTwrites
Summary: Goodneighbor, a colorful town full of colorful people. A collection of encounters between the town's residents on good days and bad days. Quick asides of friends, enemies, lovers, and so on. A certain songbird shows up often.





	1. Morning at the Rail (Mags and Hamm)

**Author's Note:**

> Characters that appear with be listed in the chapter notes and the chapter title. If the names are separated with a / , it's a couple, or a romantic encounter. If they're separated by an 'and', it's a platonic encounter.  
> This is just a collection where I play around with the characters from Goodneighbor. I really enjoy this town a lot and there's so many ideas to explore. Of course, Magnolia shows up in most of these, because I love her and not too many people write her casually.  
> Please enjoy, comments and kudos are very appreciated.  
> \-----  
> This chapter:  
> Characters: Hamm, Whitechapel Charlie, Magnolia  
> Summary: Hamm encounter Magnolia in the early morning.

Early morning in Goodneighbor was an odd space.

Between the tireless activity of night and the lethargic reluctance of afternoon, the town was on a backwards schedule to most everywhere else. The dark provided a perfect cover for the questionable, the private, the dubious, and the hours of the sun first peeking over the front gate were always unwelcome.

Kleo’s store was the only one open by 7am, all others recognizing the unlikeliness of anybody caring to shop so early. People wouldn’t start crawling out of their hovels and basements and attics until afternoon, when the light was intense enough to demand attention. 

Hamm liked the quiet. The air felt cleaner, cooler. Early just had an atmosphere. He wasn’t a poetic man, so instead of putting words to it, he smoked a quiet cigarette against the brick of the subway entrance and focused on breathing.

Charlie had a job for him. He didn’t know the details, but the pay sounded good so who really gave a shit. 

He crushed the filter against the wall and started down the stairs into the Third Rail, wind echoing empty against the tunnels as it always did when the bar was closed. 

By the fourth step, he heard something else.

Humming, and the sound of a knife working. He rounded the corner and suddenly felt intrusive. Magnolia was looking at him from behind the bar.

“Oh, Hamm. You looking for Charlie?”

He almost didn’t recognize her without that sparkling red dress. 

She was tossing something in a pan, knife in hand. In her other, a ripe tato dripping, sizzling pleasantly against the heat.

He shook his head a bit to retrieve his bearings. He hadn’t expected her to be here this time of day. 

“I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude.”

She bent her brow and waved the knife in his direction, tapping it against the countertop opposite of her. “Nonsense. Sit down, take a load off. You like eggs?”

He hesitated, feeling like he’d just walked in on something he shouldn’t have, but took the few steps to the bar and sat. Did Charlie have a working stove back there?

“Didn’t know you’d be down here so early.”

“Eh, well. You know. I stay here sometimes after closeup, help Charlie around, grab a nap. Rexford’s been having a problem with the plumbing anyway.”

She palmed a modest-sized Mirelurk egg towards him expectantly.

“Half? Whole?”

The smell of cooking food was enticing. Dazed, he simply nodded. Upon realizing a nod wouldn’t answer her question, he made a helpless gesture across his chest and cleared his throat. 

“Half is fine.”

She smiled that smile that reminded him who she was and took to humming again as she cooked; she was impressive with her cutting, dicing quick and clean and drifting this way and that over her assortment of ingredients. The pan simmered with life and the bar was filled with a pleasant, homey scent. Hamm could feel himself getting hungry as he sat there.

She was dressed in a simple button-down, the first three buttons undone in the front, tucked into plain pants you could find at Daisy’s for cheap. How was it that she could make a basic set of clothes look like that? Despite the casual threads, you never forgot who was wearing them. 

She carried the pan in one hand and laid out two plates and forks with the other. The eggs wafted with steam, fluffy and cut with tatos and a bit of Brahmin oil, bouncing with air as they piled up. When was the last time he’d been served food like this? Hot food, by a pretty woman with an unbothered smile? She dipped under the counter and brought up a can of purified water, inspected the glasses until she found two that met her cleanliness standards, and split the drink between them.

Magnolia leaned her elbows against the bar-top, taking a bite. He followed, suddenly eager to eat.

“You finish that paperback yet?”

He looked up at her, trying to pull his brain together enough to make sense of her question.

“You’ve been reading it on your shifts the last few days.”

“Oh, that thing. Eh.” He chewed a mouthful. “Not my cup of tea. Think I’m giving up on it.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with an open palm. 

“Oh no. That bad? I was hoping you’d lend it to me after you finished.”

“Oh it’s bad.” He chuckled between bites, recalling the moment last night when he’d officially called it. “Real bad. It’s one of those detective novels, but the mystery don’t make no sense.”

The singer looked amused and sympathetic, tipping her chin against her hand.

“Think the writer just wanted to tell some cheesy love story but tried to spice it up with a crime subplot or something. ‘Cept they forgot to make it readable.”

“Oh! You know, that explains why Irma liked it so much. She loves cheesy romance like I’ve never seen. Was practically begging me to read it so she could rope me in.” 

He leaned closer, narrowing an eye. “That’s the most unsurprising thing I ever heard.”

“She’s a sweetheart,” Magnolia grinned. “Can’t say we share tastes, though. I’ll have to break her heart later.” 

He shook his head adamantly, raising a hand up. 

“Wait, don’t tell her that I told you that. She won’t let me in the Den for a month.”

Her grey-blue eyes crinkled, lips split into a chiming laugh. 

“Tell you what, bring it around tonight and I’ll find out how bad it is for myself. Maybe it’ll surprise me. I’ll bring something of my own for you.”

He suppressed the urge to smile like a fool at the idea of getting something good to read for a change. “Sounds like a deal. Mysteries, if you got any.”

“Oh, I’ve got some I think you’ll like.”

Hamm looked down and surprised himself with an empty plate. He hadn’t even realized he’d finished, tied up in their low-stakes conversation. She collected the plates and deposited them in the sink behind her, wiping her hands over her blouse.

“I think Charlie’s messing around in the tunnel with the generators. Lemme see if I can grab him for you.”

He stared blankly at her before remembering why he’d come in the first place. 

“Oh, yeah. Right, Charlie.”

The job. Dumbass. He tapped the countertop with a drum of fingertips and watched the singer open round the wall’s corner and disappear into the tunnel beyond it.

He wondered if she was down here often in the morning. Her shifts ended around 4am; he knew cos he’d walked her home a few times, when the way to the Rex seemed more unfriendly than usual. She probably didn’t sleep if she was up and about now, or she was planning to after she ate?

She’d been real sweet then, too. All thank yous and gentle smiles and her arm in his elbow.

Hamm found himself wondering over dangerous things. Before he could make sense of another of it, a feminine shout bounced off the walls of the bar, followed by a deafening blare of noise and a fiery flash that licked passed the top of the makeshift wall.

“Miss?” he fumbled, trotting to where she’d vanished before ducking back when she came reeling around the corner, bare feet catching on the wood. She sprinted to the storage room and pulled the extinguisher off the wall just in time for Charlie to come barreling in like a fireball, shouting obscenities and flailing his steel arms around uselessly.

She struggled with the release on the trigger for a moment before slamming the bottom of it against the floor, unsticking it, and covering Whitechapel in a mess of frothy ooze. The fire sizzled out, both the one consuming his shell and the one keeping him airborne, and his body hit the wood with a loud bang. The fireball turned into an angry, wet, scorched Mister Handy.

“Damn it all, woman!” he shouted, shaking himself off and shaking an arm at Magnolia. “I told you not to bother me when I’m workin’!”

She scoffed, a look of disbelief on her face, and threw the empty extinguisher to the side. 

“You’re gonna blame me for that? You were on fire before I even got three words out!”

“You distracted me, I had the thing workin’ brilliant then you opened your mouth and it turned to shite!” He relit his exhaust and got himself floating again, beeping and whirring as he became readjusted. Magnolia rolled her eyes and looking deliberately at Hamm, exasperated but not without humor.

“You’re a real character, yellin’ at me for this. If I hadn’t been here you’d have burnt to nothing.”

He grumbled, unable to argue with that. Magnolia picked up his bowler hat from the floor near the wall panel, brushed it off, and replaced it on his head.

“Could it be that you’re just a machine that’s no good at fixing another machines, Charlie?” she mused, a finger perched against her cheek. Unimpressed by his curse-filled rebuttal, she reached forward and swiped at a bit of the char, leaving lines of clean against his chrome. Her annoyed expression quickly shifted into an amused grin, happy at her own handiwork. 

Hamm came up to stand beside her. She’d drawn a smiley face on him.


	2. An Invitation to the Jewel (Hancock and Mags)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Magnolia, Hancock, Fahrenheit
> 
> Summary: Diamond City sends a letter. Magnolia and Hancock have a bad idea. Fahrenheit laments.

Hancock took a long, slow drag from his jet inhaler and closed his eyes to the rustle of paper. Fahrenheit shifted on her heels, leaning against the couch, worrying at the callouses on her thumb with restless nails. Magnolia’s grey eyes were flashing down the letter carefully, red nails touching the yellowed parchment with dots of color.

A minute of silence passed between them as she read. When she finished, her brow went up and she cocked her head with a curious exhale.

“Well, that’s certainly something.”

Hancock opened his eyes with a stretch. The Flower crossed her legs and skimmed it again.

“What do ya think?” he coughed.

She flicked her attention between the paper and the mayor. After a moment, she let out a little scoff and slung her elbow over the arm of her seat, tossing the paper on the coffee table between them with two slender fingers.

“I think McDonough is out of his damn mind.”

Hancock barked a loud, boisterous laugh and his bodyguard let out an exhale like she’d been holding her breath. Magnolia took a sip of her bourbon with a small smile.

“Yeah, see? Fahrenheit here really thought you’d say yes.” He slapped the redhead’s knee with the back of his hand, lipless mouth pulled into a wolfish grin. “I told her, ‘no fuckin’ way’. She didn’t believe me.”

Fahrenheit hit his hand away with a huff before crossing her arms and leveling her gaze at the singer.

“Wait,” the bodyguard said, sounding confused. “No bullshit. You won’t even consider it?”

Magnolia peered over the rim of her glass, placed it on the table, and shook her head.

“Of course not.”

Fahrenheit gave her a baffled look.

“Why?”

Magnolia drew her legs up onto the couch and positioned them beside her.

“I love this town,” she smiled warmly. “Why would I ever want to leave?”

How anybody could love this shithole place was beyond Fahrenheit. Hancock clapped loud, coughing and guffawing smoke.

“There she is. That’s my girl.” He seemed thoroughly pleased, waving his inhaler in her direction. She declined it with a pretty hand, grin still held to her cheeks.

 “It’s safer,” Fahrenheit said, tone blunt. “Cleaner. And you’d make a hell of a lot more money set up in one of their bars than the Rail.”

Magnolia rested her chin on her palm, expression unchanged.

“You trying to get rid of me, darlin’?”

The redhead went quiet, freckled muddling under the tiniest of blushes. Hancock chuckled at her and took another drag.

“Diamond City isn’t my kind of town,” the singer continued. “Never been good with cages. Besides, I don’t think I’m nearly as _respectable_ as McDonough thinks I am.”

She winked at Fahrenheit playfully as she spoke. Her face went just a bit redder.  

“Seems stupid to me. Half the people here would kill for an invitation to Diamond City.”

Despite her harsh tone, Magnolia’s smile didn’t fade. Fahrenheit was doing an awful lot of blushing for someone that never blushed.

Hancock kicked his feet up on the table. “Come on, you know this, Red. Half the people here got kicked out of Diamond City. Only thing they got that we don’t is a helluva lot of rules.”

She sneered at him, obviously disagreeing with that assessment but not bothering to argue.

“I get to preform for all kinds of people here. Who will I preform for in Diamond City? Let’s see, how many types of folks aren’t even allowed through the gate?”

She and Hancock spoke in unison, as if they’d done it a thousand times before.

“No ghouls!” they said dramatically, surprising Fahrenheit. “No Synths! No Raiders, Gunners, or people of questionable intent!”

Magnolia looked at her fingers as she counted them off.

“They still let in robots, you think?”

“Yeah, but they’re on thin ice!” Hancock coughed another laugh and shook his finger at the ceiling, imitating the mayor.

“Well, that’s all my crew and three quarters of my friends,” she shrugged. “I couldn’t go for even a single show, let alone relocating. Shame.” She faked a bit of disappointment, failed to frown through her amusement.

Hancock squinted at her and grunted an interested noise.

“Hey,” he drawled. “What if you _did_ just do one show?”

Magnolia arched a brow up at him as he clambered to stand up, seized by a sudden jumpy excitement.

“Oh, fuck. That would be good. Tell ‘em you wanna scout the city, you know? Look around, see if it’s _really_ the _Great_ Green Jewel. Do a show, a big show. Trash the place! Then tell ‘em to fuck off on your way out!”

He wheezed out a triumphant cackle at his idea and collapsed back into the couch. Fahrenheit shook her head with exasperation.

“Terrible fucking idea. Good way to get her stalked and killed on the way home.”

She waited for Magnolia to agree with her.

The singer pursed her lips and took another sip of her drink, looking like she was giving his words far too much thought.

“No,” the bodyguard hissed. “You can’t be serious.”

“You don’t know Mags, Fahr,” he snickered. “ She’s _wild_.”

Magnolia gave her a sympathetic grin. Suddenly all of those verses about skinny dipping with behemoths were starting to make sense.

“Imagine,” Hancock said, painting a scene. “Coming in the front gate with bots, ex-Raiders, Ghouls, and they gotta let you _all_ in.”

She breathed a wispy chuckle, white teeth shimmering between her lips. “Bringing a little culture to the big city.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. “Exactly.”

Magnolia took the letter again and rose to her feet.

“I’ll think it out, send out a reply with Daisy’s boys.”

“ _Hell_ yeah, Mags.” He looked like he was drifting in and out now, sprawled over the cushions. He let the empty inhaler drop on the wood floor as he sank into his high. “Tell those fuckers. You _tell_ ‘em.”

Fahrenheit gawked at them both before Magnolia gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder and went out the office door, Whitechapel hovering behind it in wait. He shook a claw at her, she replied inscrutably, and they left. The bodyguard had the urge to go after her, to demand so kind of assurance that they had been fucking with her, but she decided against it. Surely she was just humoring John; an idea that insane was commonplace for him, especially on Jet. But her? No way in hell. She had to have been pulling her leg. 


	3. Brother Thomas (Charlie and Mags)

“Sounds like quite the crowd out there.” Magnolia smiled over the bar.

Whitechapel didn’t look impressed. Hamm was too busy worrying over the rag in his hand to take note of her words, dousing it with water and wringing it out over the dump sink.

She sighed, waving her hand in front of herself.

“Oh, come on boys. It wasn’t so bad.”

“Yeah, actually it was ‘so bad’,” Charlie buzzed, reaching one of his arms to toss Hamm a bottle of high proof booze. The ghoul caught it and set it down beside himself. Magnolia frowned, unhappy with the somber energy that had taken over the conversation.

Hamm moved closer, holding the rag carefully. He seemed to be waiting for her permission.

The singer wiped the side of her face and was surprised by the sensation of liquid trailing down her forearm. She pulled her hand away to investigate and discovered a generous river of blood streaming down and dripping into her lap.

“Oh my,” she chimed. “Good thing this dress is already red, huh?”

Whitechapel let out a disgruntled whir. Hamm, with shaking hands, gently swept her hair out of the way and pressed the rag to the open wound on the side of her head. She flinched, and then laughed.

“Warn a girl, would you?” She reached for another bar towel to wipe her hands on, letting Hamm mop up the injury.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice more ragged than even a ghoul’s ought to be. He wasn’t just apologizing for the pain. “This was my fault, I shouldn’a let him down.”

“Knew there was something off about that preacher fella. I didn’t expect him to try something so stupid, though,” she recalled, pointedly ignoring the splatter of gore behind her.

“If you’da kept quiet about Emogene he wouldn’t a come back here, you know.” The robot busied himself mopping up her blood as it dripped onto the bar top. It sounded inappropriate to Hamm for anyone to talk to Magnolia like that, but she took it with ease.

“I was worried about her, and look! I had good reason to worry. If he was crazy enough to try to burst in here during open hours, who knows what kind of horrible things he was doing out there with that cult.”

“Weren’t our business what he was doin’,” he countered, as if they’d had similar arguments before. “He woulda killed you, ya know. Bloody hell, the hit he did get in _coulda_ killed you.”

“But it didn’t,” she winked, stubborn smile stretched over her lips. It fell away under a pained wince as Hamm poured a splash of liquor against the rag. He apologized again.

“Least he couldn’t get off a second shot. Whole room turned him into mush.”

“Well, bugger had it comin’ if anyone did. Pulling a gun on the Flower. Fuckin’ idiot.”

Her face darkened for a moment. "I tried to talk him down."

Charlie paused, voice lower. "Ay. Talkin' don't always solve the problem, bird."

She hummed sadly.

The ghoul pulled the soaked cloth away to inspect the wound closer. It was really bleeding, fast and constant; must have nicked an artery or something. He wasn’t a damn doctor but it wasn’t a pretty sight.

“You got any stims laying around, Whitechapel?” he said hurriedly.

“Nah, sold the last of ‘em off a few hours ago.”

“I’m gonna run to Amari’s, maybe she’s got a spare. I don’t think this’ll close on its own.” Hamm carefully took Magnolia’s hand and guided it up to hold the towel.

“I’ll be right back. Sit tight.”

He took off up the stairs faster than either of them had ever seen him move.

The door shut loudly; in the seconds between the clicks, they could hear a torrent of concerned voices in front of the Rail, demanding to know her condition.

“This is a real mess,” Charlie said with a grunt.

The playful light in Magnolia’s eyes died into something sterner.

“It was just a confused man,” she sighed. “And he is very dead now.”

There was sadness in her features at that acknowledgment. The robot resisted the annoying impulse to go soft, to comfort her. They were old friends, and of course he cared, but her flippant attitude was as irritating as ever.

“Was it?” he questioned. “How do we know that? Do we? Coulda been Institute, coulda been a rouse. Hell, could be part of a bigger plot. We don’t know shite.”

She tsked at him and cocked her head to the side and the wound actually pumped with blood, startling her.

“It was the preacher,” she said, pressing the towel harder. “We know the preacher, Whitechapel. He isn’t with the Institute, and he was certainly no Courser.”

He paused, eyes flickering, and gestured with meaning to his titanium body.

“My job, other than watching this dump, is protectin’ you, bird.” His tinny voice was low and sure. “I’ll make the decisions ‘round here ‘bout whether a threat is worth bein’ worried over.”

He held out a clean towel for her. She looked between his round, black eyes and the rag, brow bending. She peeled the soaked one away from her head and quickly replaced it, hesitating as she saw how drenched with red it had become.

“You always worry too much,” Magnolia sighed.

“We should send word out to the church. Be sure. Maybe they know somethin’ we don’t.”

Magnolia shook her head and regretted it soon after as the room swam in her vision.

“No, Charlie. Heavens, it isn’t worth the trouble. Alpha will lose her marbles with another concern on her plate.”

“Ain’t you got any fears for yourself, woman?” He was almost yelling now, fumes of smoke spitting from his vents.

“Fears?” she questioned, tone sharpening. She pointed to the patch of insides and viscera on the ground behind her seat. “Should I be afraid of that?”

Charlie flung the soiled towel into the sink.

“Should I be afraid of every stranger that comes into this place?” she continued. “Should I be afraid to sing, or to be alive?”

He scoffed. She didn’t heed him.

“If I was afraid of everything that had the ability, or motivation, or _care_ to hurt me, how could I even survive in this world, Charlie? Why would I have even bothered to escape in the first place?”

“Don’t go twisting my words, wench!” he exclaimed, knowing what train of thought she was on now.

“God damn it Whitechapel!” She was yelling now, too. She hated yelling. It was just about always a waste of time and energy. But she’d be damned if she let them force her into hiding again. “If you think one crazy man is worth my fears, then you might as well march me over to Amari and have her finish the job!”

“I’ve got half a mind to do it!” He was shaking his limbs in her direction. “At least then you wouldn’t be such a stubborn—”

Upstairs, the door opened with a boom. Charlie and Magnolia looked to the stairs, and then back at each other. Neither one of them realized how heated their exchange had gotten until they noticed how close they were, both of them leaning over the bar top. The singer looked equal parts sick and fuming and the robot figured she’d be red if she wasn’t so pale.

Charlie withdrew first, floating back to the midway point behind the bar. Magnolia stayed semi-perched against the wood, looking down as the adrenaline wore off and dizziness hit her.

It wasn’t Hamm that came rumbling down the stairs. Instead, Doctor Amari herself was rushing to the singer’s side, medical kit clutched to her.

“What on earth happened here?” she called forward. Without waiting for permission, she grabbed Magnolia by the forearms and guided her back into the stool; the taller woman wavered, struggling to stay balanced even with help.

“She was shot,” Hamm rushed to say, coming up behind her.

Amari covered the towel with her hand and pulled it away.

She grumbled at the injury, murmuring to herself, and set to cleaning it properly. Magnolia squinted with each press and tug, biting her lips together.

“Did you see the attacker?” She flicked her eyes fast to Charlie.

“Yeah,” he replied. “He’s over there.”

He gestured at the puddle. Amari shook her head.

“Who was he? Did you know him?”

“Guy that used to come in here. Preacher, Brother Thomas I think his name was, made a fuss a while ago. Came to get revenge for Mags blabbing about some missing broad.”

She narrowed her eyes at the wound.

“You recognized him?”

Magnolia paused and looked at her meaningfully. Amari's vision swiveled to Charlie, who let out a simulated cough.

"Hamm, I got another stash of towels in the VIP room. Way in the back. Grab 'em, will ya?"

The ghoul straightened up from his spot, glanced between them all, and read the room enough to know that they wanted privacy. He grumbled a bit, gave the singer another concerned bow of his head, and made off towards the other side of the bar.

They all waited until he was out of earshot.

“He wasn’t Institute,” Magnolia said, voice wavering unsteadily under the strain of Amari’s painful attention.

“Are you sure?”

The look Magnolia gave Charlie was pleading. He watched her closely.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, he wasn’t Institute.”

Amari sighed with measured calm. “Just a bad situation then. That’s better than the alternative, at least.”

Magnolia's disposition brightened instantly. Charlie shook an eye at her, she grinned back.

The prick, pain, and near instant relief of a stimpak flooded in as the mixture set to mending the wound.

“It was a graze,” she examined. “A nasty graze. You got lucky.”

Magnolia, teasingly, looked down her own bloodied form with outstretched arms. “I’m feeling lucky, Doc,” she half-laughed. “And feeling like I need a shower.”

Her lack of fear was equal parts frustrating and enviable.

Amari let out a breath and packed the empty syringe away for cleaning, offering Magnolia a tired pat on the shoulder.


	4. Watch (Amari and Mags)

Amari stood back, and watched.

In many things, in many facets of Goodneighbor, in the Railroad, in the people, in her own life, Amari felt like an unwilling observer. She helped, of course she helped, or she tried to. But they had been fighting a losing battle for so long; she saw how it weighed on those who remembered, how it had aged Desdemona, who had once been fiery and bright-eyed. How her own bones creaked with the pressure.

Tragedies, little failures. A wiped synth stumbles into the Den, unable to remember who he was meant to be, the process faulty, and Amari has to feed him lies, false visions that fill in space the way bread would a hungry belly. Full for a while, but never nourishing. Addictions spring up in pockets of lost souls looking to cram anything they can into the gaps.

Looking Carla in the eye, knowing she’s an Institute informant, knowing she’d sold synths they’d risked their lives to rescue back into slavery for a handful of caps. Smiling at her when she asks to bum a Stimpack for her brahmin. Gritting her teeth.

Watching her go. Watching. Hoping the Super Mutants would do the Commonwealth a favor for once and stomp her out. Hating herself for thinking that.

Save two, lose four. Ants collecting crumbs, drowning under rainfall. Starting over, and over, and over, each time with less.

Diamond City banishing their Ghouls. People go missing, humans and synths. Anyone suspected of being a synth, infiltrator or not, is executed with extreme prejudice. The paper sells the fear, even if Wright doesn’t intend it.

She doesn’t know that there are innocents on both sides. The Institute uses this fresh and angry terror to their advantage; the masses can kill their escapees for them. Amari knows Wright would be horrified to know the social engineering at work. She's young, passionate; she might even work with them, if given the chance.

But secrecy is their only defense. So she watches. Smokes, even though she knows she shouldn’t. Ears open, mouth shut.

Magnolia is writing a new song. Amari can hear her humming something she’s not heard before when they cross paths in the morning, the doctor heading to work and the Flower leaving it. She gives her a smile that could melt wax, and Amari is grateful every time that they hadn’t taken her memories, that she was still alive, that Goodneighbor kept on through the turmoil.

Two runners depart with messages. One of a warehouse found, piled with synth bodies. The second, a list of names. Her hands shake, crumpling the edges of the paper. Anger, guilt, exhaustion. She imagines Desdemona’s pain, inches from inevitable collapse, the mourning of the Old Church, the scraping of broken bones on catacomb walls.

Irma asks that morning if she’s alright. Of course, she tells her, and hurries into her lab.

She and the Flower cross again in the morning. This time, a hand on her shoulder makes her stop.

“You look exhausted, honey.”

Run, she wants to say. Get out of the Commonwealth. They’re slaughtering us.

She cracks this time. Magnolia takes her hand and leads her to the Rexford.

Amari wakes up in the Flower’s arms, face sticky with tears, clothes rumpled from sleep. For an hour, she lets herself marvel at C2-41’s ability to tame, to soothe, mind clearer in the simplicity of the present.

She leaves quietly. Maybe C2 is asleep, or maybe she’s pretending, but she lets her go without the embarrassment of an explanation. Another small mercy.

She feels guilty at the internal decision to call Magnolia ‘C2’. But she’d never gotten the impression the woman was ashamed of her origins, unlike many others; she wonders if she’d called her that out-loud without thinking.

The Den is busy. Irma gives her a strange look when she walks in, likely disheveled, but doesn’t question her. More messages, more runners. Three incoming escapees heading there for wipes. A missing scout, a new sighting of Gen-1s too close to the Church for comfortable. Warnings.

Do nothing. Stay alert. Give nothing away. Any action is an answer.

Watch.

Watch.

Watch.


	5. It's the Cold (Mags/ Irma, NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mags and Irma have a casual encounter on a cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. Short little thing, love these girls.

Working the Memory Den wasn’t a hard job. Well, not on most days. People knew what they needed, and more importantly, knew that they had to behave themselves in order to get it.

Maybe it was the weather. Must have been, for people to be as stupid as they were tonight. Goodneighbor had been caught in a chill swell, freezing winds sweeping through the streets, crowding the warehouses and the attics and, of course, the Den.

Whatever it was, it was testing Irma’s patience, and she ended up closing early for the night.

She figured the Rail wasn’t better off, though. The Den, the Statehouse and the bar were the only places in town with consistent heating units. Even the Rexford had blocks of rooms without heat, but then again it wasn’t shocking that no one prepared for a nuclear winter pre-war.

Magnolia liked to entertain, though. She had the kind of magic that you couldn’t learn, that kept people attached, wanting to please, wanting just a shred of attention, but the safety of an adoring crowd, a congregation. Someone would get out of hand and the other patrons would shut it down, knowing that one idiot could ruin their little paradise forever. It was rare that she couldn’t handle a situation, and Charlie knew how to handle it when someone took it a step too far.

Irma liked to observe, but wasn’t keen on having to shove wanderers away from her lounge for getting too close. She didn’t have a Mister Handy watching her back and she wasn’t built for dealing with scavvers. Blanket bans were scary enough for most patrons to mind themselves; the Memory Den had the type of drug you couldn’t find on the street. But tonight? Everyone was doped up, trying to stay warm. Hazy and cold and stupid, and what the hell was she meant to do about that?

Kicking everyone out at close had been a huge pain in the ass. Most of them made a line for the Rail, like every night; she watched them go, snorting at the painfully cold air. It had been a long while since they had a snap like this. Hopefully everybody was smart enough to stay indoors.

A few of them pulled on door under the Statehouse balcony, and Irma was surprised when it didn’t budge. She returned inside, watched from the window with her hands balled up near her chest.

After a minute, Magnolia emerged from behind the subway grate, glowing smile ever present, and made a few sympathetic gestures at the scavvers outside. Ham came out from behind her, shooing them out of reach, and locked the grate behind him. He held out his arm, stretching his coat out to shield her from the vicious wind. She caught his hat as it flew off and laughed, her hair whipping around her face.

They were headed for the Den. Irma quickly unlocked the front door as they approached.

Magnolia let out a relieved laugh as her heels clicked against the wood.

“Oh, thank God you’re still here, Irma.”

Ham tipped his head as she stepped inside in front of him. Magnolia brushed his hat with her hand and put it back on his head, for which he offered a thankful grunt, and turned on his heel.

“Ham, you’ll catch your death!” Magnolia exclaimed. “Come inside!”

“I gotta help Charlie with the repairs. Don’t worry about me, Miss.” He gave her rare smile and took off back to the Rail, snowy wind trying to whip his feet out from under him.

Irma pulled Magnolia in by her arm, surprised at the chill coming off her leather coat, and locked the door behind them.

“Generators gave up again?” Irma guessed, giving the singer’s chilled shoulders a few firm, playful rubs. Magnolia sighed and swept her bangs back in order.

“Well, what does he expect? Those things are older than _death_ ,” she said with annoyance. “And Charlie’s no good at fixing generators, I knew they’d just end up going again. Had to close up, the tunnel was filling up with frost.”

Irma laughed under her hand. It was nice to see Mags duck out from under the veneer of her stage personality. She relaxed her posture, let herself grin wider and frown harder.

She leaned into the window, breath dancing on the glass, and watched as Ham dispersed another crowd at the Rail’s entrance.

“I feel so bad,” she grimaced. “I hope everyone’s got a place they can go.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Irma leaned her back on the wall next to her. “Hancock’s got the Statehouse open, he’ll probably throw a party with all these people.”

“You _could_ just let them sleep here, you know.” Magnolia arched her brow.

“Uh huh. Does Charlie let people sleep in the bar after close?”

“Well, extenuating circumstances call for sympathy.”

“Careful, your bleeding heart is gonna stain my carpet.”

Magnolia let out a sharp exhale, pouting at her. Irma had the instant urge and pinch her cheeks as hard as she could; she was too good at making her feel guilty.

She perched her hands on her hips with resolve. “If crotchety old Whitechapel doesn’t feel bad sending them to the cold, then I shouldn’t have to, either.”

“Be nice, I adore that robot.”

“You _adore_ just about everyone and everything.”

Magnolia smirked. “That’s right, sweetheart.”

Irma let out a sigh; arguing with this woman was always a losing battle. It’d frustrate her if it wasn’t _just_ endearing enough to forgive.

Magnolia shivered as she stripped out of her leather coat. The other woman knowingly let her eyes slip down over her friend’s ample breasts, their peaks showing firm through the silk of the shimmering fabric. A distraction from this bomb of an evening _would_ be nice. She smirked, leaned in close, and brushed her fingertips over them.

Magnolia gasped, not expecting the contact, and let out a laugh while swatting her hand.

“Goodness!” she cried. “And you complain about the _scavvers_ being handsy!”

“And yet, here you are,” Irma grinned, taking her coat from her hands and tossing it over one of the pods. “Escaping the cold, into my waiting arms.”

“You offering to warm me up, gorgeous?”

Irma hooked an arm around her waist, forthcoming, and pressed them together. Magnolia chuckled again and let their noses brush. Her ruby lips lingered close.

Irma counted herself lucky that she had an attractive friend who didn’t mind a casual roll over every now and then. Especially after days like this, when her back ached and her feather dress seemed strangling and uncomfortable.

“Been missing that pretty mouth of yours.”

Magnolia’s smile melted into a soft little line, pursed, amused.

“Oh?”

“Rough day.” She leaned up on her heels and took the singer’s bottom lip between her teeth and sucked. She responded in kind, skimming her tongue against the contact.

“You owe me for last time,” she grinned, capturing her breast in her hand and pinching her nipple tight through the dress. Magnolia gasped, purred, and the heat sunk its claws into Irma’s belly. Another twist, another suck, and she shivered again. Irma backed her into the Den wall with a shove.

“You’re too easy,” she teased.

“Please.” Magnolia flashed pearly teeth. “I’m just cold.”

“Sure,” she rolled her eyes, and pinched harder, eliciting a sharp breath from the singer. “Nothing to do with how sensitive your tits are?  Do the jetheads at the Rail know that, too?”

The singer shot her a knowing grin. “You know it’s just you, baby.”

Irma pressed closer, nosing through her black hair and biting tenderly at the nape of her neck. No marks, she knew. No marks, but she’d get close enough. Magnolia’s eyes fell shut for a moment. Irma forced her weight against her and pressed her mouth to the singer’s again, holding another soft, soft moan between her lips as her fingers continued to work her breasts.

Irma felt a thigh rising against her own. Her arm dropped to hook around Magnolia’s leg and Irma stepped forward, riding up the skirt of her dress and pressing her thigh flat to her core. Another sensual gasp, another pull of teeth.

Irma drew back just far enough to get a look at Magnolia’s face, now breathless and taken.

“Easy,” she grinned again, digging her fingertips into the crook of her knee.

“Don’t tease, baby.” Her grey eyes were hazy with lust.

Irma’s lips fell from her devilish grin into a soft line as she leaned close. She was insufferably hard to resist. Long, delicate arms laced around her neck as Magnolia captured her mouth in an erotically shallow kiss, her tongue stroking over teeth, lips moving tender and slow against Irma’s as they relaxed into each other.

Her heart was pounding when they separated again and she could feel the heat in her face.

“God, Mags,” she breathed, electricity buzzing through her nerves, every ending sensitive with anticipation. “You really don’t know how to play fair.”

“Touch me, Irma.” Her tone left nothing to the imagination.

“Here?” The blonde grinned. “The cold must have made you crazy.”

“Mm, maybe.” She pressed her lips against Irma’s ear, breath raking shivers over her back. “I want those pretty fingers inside me. Right here.”

The blonde let out a ragged groan, shed her feathered coat and threw it aside.

She let her impulses take over as her hand left the crook of her knee and dove passed the hem of her underwear. Knowing fingers parted her lips easily and sunk knuckle deep into her cunt, wet and warm for her; Magnolia sucked in a sharp, startled breath.

“Yes,” she gasped, her arms tightening around Irma’s shoulders. “Oh, _fuck.”_

“You’re so wet,” Irma groaned. “ _Easy.”_

Before she could say anything back, Irma drew back and thrusted inside again, hard, and started a rhythm, Magnolia lost her breath, arched into her hand, let out a string of uncharacteristic whimpers.

Mags had told her once, before they started having casual encounters, that she was always quiet during sex. Joked that maybe she just used up her voice on stage and had nothing to spare.

That had been the first time they fucked; Irma wanted to see for herself.

Every sound sent a jolt of pride rocketing down to Irma’s core. She knew how to touch Magnolia to make her sing.

“I’d love to get my mouth on that sweet pussy, doll,” she rasped as she pushed the singer harder against the wall and rammed deeper, curling her fingers against her slick walls. Another open mouthed moan cracked through her lips.

“ _Keep talking_ ,” Magnolia keened, grip tight on her, hips arched forward and face twisted prettily in desperation. “Irma, _Irma_.”

“You take my fingers so good, baby. I’d love to see you take a strap just as nice. Spread yourself for me, good girl. You’re so tight for me-“

“Fuck, _fuck, I’m coming-“_ Magnolia cried out, broke, every muscle in her body went rigid, breath froze in her throat, her thighs shook and spasmed against Irma’s hips as she held her close, fingers still riding her through her orgasm.  

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” she gasped hard, hips grinding roughly, fingers tight on her corset. “ _Oh god, oh god—”_

Her shaking amplified as a second climax ripped through her and she just about _screamed,_ thighs flexed and trembling, mouth open, body tight as a spring loaded trap. Such pretty sounds, all for her. Irma bit down on her shoulder as she crashed back down to Earth, gasping for air.

Irma kept her weight on the other woman as she regained her senses, knowing she’d probably collapse if she parted too fast. The harsh cold permeated through the wall behind her, cooling them fast; Irma had nearly forgotten what had brought her friend here in the first place.

“Come on, doll. Upstairs.”

Magnolia chuckled through her breathlessness.

“Don’t wanna let me go yet?”

“Rexford’s gonna be full, and the bar’s frozen over. You’re spending the night.”

“You’re a regular knight in shining armor, huh?” the singer smirked.

“You wish. I’ve just been keeping track, and now you owe me double.”

Magnolia let out a chiming laugh as they separated, fingers hanging loosely together as Irma pulled her forward.


End file.
